As an experiment, I'm switching from the *Module* pattern of the **Entry** object to the *Prototype* pattern (and likewise to the *prototype* git branch). This humble post is a **test**. Soon, we shall see if it has worked. And, by fumbling around with the methods (ie, sending the object **this** to each fucking one), I have made it work. Cute, eh? ...
I have arrived to my lonely but satisfactory hotel room from the *atrium*. It's more of a dining room than *atrium*, really, but it serves both purposes, so I shall continue to call it *atrium*. In the *atrium* were victuals. I took them in my furry paws and ravenously filled my gaping maw. It was, also, satisfactory. I now sip a glass of red wine. The pain in my chest has receded. I only thought about possibilities briefly before falling asleep last night. Surely, I could have died yesterday. The vehicle ...
I have arrived to my lonely but satisfactory hotel room from the *atrium*. It's more of a dining room than *atrium*, really, but it serves both purposes, so I shall continue to call it *atrium*. In the *atrium* were victuals. I took them in my furry paws and ravenously filled my gaping maw. It was, also, satisfactory. I now sip a glass of red wine. The pain in my chest has receded. I only thought about possibilities briefly before falling asleep last night. Surely, I could have died yesterday. The vehicle ...
I am **displaced** into Little Rock, Arkansas. My current place of residence is not unpleasant. The pain in my chest is, however. I left Lisa's this morning a little before eight. I was eager to get back on the road. The road has always beckoned, be it by *air*, *land* (in this case, my truck) or *thought* (unfortunately the most common case). I enjoyed the drive. It was freedom. I felt alive. I crossed Tenessee and listened to **Amarok**. I was momentarily brought back to 2006. It always amazes me how, t...
Last night, my lethargy broke at some point after 19.00, birthing a bit of creative thought concerning the **martenblog** and my problem with **promises**. At first, I believed the solution would be in the *View*. This turned out, eventually, as I bitterly experienced, to be incorrect, as I still could not access (much less *manipulate*) the data that arrived from mongo in the form of a **PromiseArray**. Ie, I still only got a blank array. Many solutions are proposed on *stackoverflow*, but none worked. I j...
### In no particular order
* Mirror martenblog mongodb on MongoLabs.
* Craigslist ad for my ex-room in fucking Brighton.
* Work on this site, of course.
* Talk to Tiit about the future of the radiotracking site.
* Write Madis.
* Go to the Zoo.
It's 16.15 now and lethargy suffuses me. I feel hot, sticky and ill. I'm
sitting on Lisa's couch. I'm alone again in her place after seven months of
absence. Yeah it is not the same physical place, but inhabits a similar s...
I feel I have used the word *bleary* much too often in my life. Fuck it, I shall use it again. I am **bleary**. International travel does that even to a small, skilled pine marten. I sit in a bar *blearily* at the moment in Montreal. The aeroport. So sexy. My memories of the last time passing through Canada on the way to the grand ol' USA bids me calm to this time. I was detained for endless hours. Endless? Well, hyperbole is a perfect matter for this moment. **Ugg**. Anyhow, I skated unfaltering through th...
Cleaning personell swoop around, most thriving on irritation. This may just be an illusion. There is one available socket in the *departure* lounge (before the gates, of course, since it is far too early for me to go through) to power my shittypie. It is now powering my shittypie. I lay down on a bench earlier, but the swooping human on a cleaning machine made multiple elliptic passes. I may have imagined the grin on his face. Well, I may not have. Three hours have passed since my arrival from San Sebastia...
I believe this bar is where I sat with some *haggard cunt* before traipsing across a street full of traffic, billowing wind and pattering rain to see **Radiohead**. The only comment I'll make on the *haggard cunt* is that my current location elicits only disgust for her. All else here is fantastic, but no memory combining her and San Sebastian is pleasant. So I sit at a table sipping *Cafe con Leche*. A pintxo of bageta + jamon serrano sit before me waiting to be consumed. If I did not feel I have a slight...
I'm reading *Quiet*. Yes - I've been reading this book sporadically since April. I do love it. That is not an issue. My scattered thought patters and erratic behaviour is the cause. But I'm not particularly concerned about these causes or symptoms at the moment. See... I'm reading *Quiet* and I am on a muted train bound from Miranda de Ebro to San Sebastian. The mustelid brain is trusting of the future. I quote *Quiet*. > The papers turned out to be chock-full of irregularities. If I'd been in the bankers...
On our drive back to Cihuri from Logroño, I brought up that I had listened to two albums by the Beatles the night before. The two albums were *Abbey Road* and *Revolver*, in that order. I'd wanted to listen to the *White Album*, but Soulseek does not seem to work from here. IE, I have no copy of it. Our tired conversation drifted from one genre of music to another. Madis talked about Estonian folk. He named bands. I acknowledged knowing some. I named bands. He didn't know many. I didn't mention Anna Maasik....
